Page 6 of From the Wreckage
“Grayson Kincaid! Haven’t seen you all week,” the guy says, clapping Dad on the shoulder.
“Been busy,” Dad replies, grinning as they start talking shop.
I offer a polite smile, then focus on my iced tea, letting their conversation fade into background noise.
I glance out the window and nearly choke when I see the black truck guy, idling at the light across from the diner, the sun glinting off the windshield. My breath catches as I stare, blinking like I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or awake.
He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe to a song or possibly because he’s irritated. I can’t tell from here, especially since he’s wearing sunglasses.
He doesn’t turn his head in my direction, so I stare, drinking in his profile. He has thick, dark hair and a strong jawline that’s covered in dark scruff. The same air of quiet intensity I noticed the other day on Main Street radiates around him.
The light changes, and he drives off without glancing in my direction.
Once again, I wonder who he is. Weirdly, no one has mentioned someone new moving to town. In Silverpine, news like that travels faster than wildfire.
Maybe he’s visiting someone. Hopefully, it’s not a girlfriend.
I catch myself and mentally roll my eyes.Seriously, Bri? You don’t know this man. And you’re dating Joey.
Have you forgotten Joey? The guy who texts every morning and says he misses you.
Guilt has me squirming in the booth.
I take another sip of tea and force myself to look anywhere but Main Street.
Later that afternoon,Dad asks me to pick up a package from the post office. I’m halfway there when I spot the black truck parked outside Lockwood Hardware. My foot eases off the gas, my heart pounding. I scan the sidewalk, then the store’s front windows, but there’s no sign of Mr. Hottie.
A part of me wants to park the truck and wander inside. Pretend I’m there for nails or lightbulbs, just to see if he’s in one of the aisles.
Instead, I tighten my hands on the wheel and press my foot on the accelerator. It’s ridiculous to be curious about a stranger, especially one who probably has a girlfriend or a wife.
That thought hits me in the chest harder than it should.
I grit my teeth the rest of the way to the post office.
CHAPTER 5
Everett
Three days passwithout seeing the angelic brunette.
I tell myself it’s a good thing. That it gives me time to focus on fixing the porch railing, sealing the shed roof, and unpacking the last of the boxes I’d shoved into the corner.
But by mid-morning on the third day, I’m restless. The kind of restlessness that has nothing to do with unfinished work and everything to do with something—or someone—I shouldn’t be thinking about.
I roll my Harley out of the garage and fire it up. The low rumble settles in my chest like an old habit.
A ride into town will burn off the edge.
I hope.
As I ridedown the street, Silverpine is as quiet as ever. There are a few people casually strolling down the sidewalks, going in and out of the buildings lining the street, or heading to their vehicles.
I casually cruise toward the main intersection when I spot the girl I’ve been searching for the past few days.
She steps out of the post office, sunlight turning the reddish streaks of her chestnut hair fiery. She’s holding a small package, her purse strap sliding off her shoulder. She looks up, and her eyes connect with mine.
I slow for the light, staring at her. Though she can’t see my face because of the helmet, I can clearly see her. She doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
